


Snowmageddon/Snowpocalypse

by defying3reason



Series: College Boys and High School Girls [11]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Sleepovers, Snowmaggedon, snowpocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A sleepover with our friends is not going to be more awesome than multiple orgasms and you will never convince me otherwise. You know being naked with you is my favorite pastime.”</p><p> </p><p>The Blizzard of 2015 dramatically hits the northeastern US, forcing everyone to keep inside and off the streets for a couple of days. Enjolras and Grantaire make some intimate plans to stay in together.</p><p>And then their friends arrive for a massive, unannounced sleepover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowmageddon/Snowpocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Hey howdy! True to CB&HSG tradition, I'm writing this one-shot in real time while dealing with Snowmageddon in Massachusetts. So far the storm hasn't been too bad-just lots of Facebooking and Netflixing. Hope everyone else is safe and warm!
> 
> I've really been missing this universe lately...
> 
> Oh, and if this is your first foray into the series, no worries. This fic stands alone pretty easily. All you really need to know is that they've graduated college and Jehan moved to Canada. Little R is Eponine and Gavroche's younger brother; his neglectful parents forgot his actual name, so he chose his own, and he named himself after Grantaire because they bonded while coloring together.

When news of “Snowmageddon” hit Grantaire’s Facebook feed initially he felt a small burst of excitement. He tamped it down quickly; after all, how many times in his life had he been burned on the promise of a snow day? New England weather was notoriously difficult to predict and the media liked to sensationalize storms. The maps might be predicting over a foot of snow, but that likely meant that his city would get a few inches at most.

Over the course of his workday he continued to check back on the weather and the forecasters weren’t taking back their predictions. The staggering expected snowfall remained. Not only that, but his friends began posting about their plans for the impending snowstorm.

Grantaire rolled his desk chair back a few inches so that he could stretch out his legs. He slouched down in the seat, closed his eyes, and envisioned what the storm could be like. He’d just been food shopping, so he didn’t have to contend with the crazies snagging water bottles and bread like the end days were upon them. He could just stay in his nice, toasty apartment and cuddle up to his breathtakingly gorgeous fiancé…

The fantasy dissolved right then and there. Grantaire worked from home, and Enjolras would never let him take a day off. Even if the power went out and he couldn’t work on his tablet, he could still draft page layouts and dialogue with his sketchbook.

Amused at himself for his moment of fluffy romanticism, Grantaire closed his social media tabs and got back to work on the latest installment of Red & Black.

* * *

Some flurries had already started when Enjolras got home that night. He carried a fine dusting of snow in with his golden curls. He remained in the doorway to shake himself off before removing his coat and hanging it on the peg by the door.

“Hey, how was class?” Grantaire padded out to the front hallway, wearing a tattered old pair of university sweatpants Enjolras had purchased either freshman or sophomore year and tried to throw out several times since finishing his undergraduate degree. Somehow they always wound up back in the dresser, no matter how sneaky he was in his attempt to ditch them. The t-shirt Grantaire wore was equally ratty; one of the first Red & Black t-shirts he’d ever sold at a convention, and his shoulder length hair was pulled back with an actual scrunchie. He was eating leftover Chinese food from a carton. Overall, he looked incredibly relaxed.

Enjolras continued extracting himself from his layers and tried not to feel annoyed. Commuting through the snow was anything but fun and his class had sucked. He knew and appreciated that Grantaire had been hard at work on his book all day, and the fact that he enjoyed his work and could laze around comfortably as he drew didn’t make it any less important, but he still felt irked.

“Our discussion was derailed by that slovenly supposed radical again.”

“The slacktivist kid?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras nodded. “Y’know, the more you bitch about him the more I’m starting to think I’d get along with him. He seems to annoy you as much as I did back when we first started hanging at the Musain. Scratch that. Maybe I should be jealous.”

“Mm. Clearly I fall head over heels with anyone who insults my beliefs. It’s a kink,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Well, it worked out okay for me.”

“Am I to take it from the lo mein you’re eating that you didn’t cook tonight?”

“This is just a snack. I was waiting for you.” Grantaire dismissively waved his fork, then went back to slurping down noodles while Enjolras fought with the last of his winter gear, his boots. Once he’d extracted himself from the weatherproof but incredibly cumbersome footwear he dropped his bag by the door and started towards the living room.

Grantiare tried to lean in for a kiss but Enjolras pulled away. “Grantaire, soy sauce and garlic breath.”

“Sorry, habit.”

“It’s okay. It’s an endearing habit when you don’t smell.” Enjolras kissed his cheek instead, then continued into the living room and flopped onto the couch. “Would it be evil of us to call for delivery?”

“Hm…if we over-tip the delivery guy it wouldn’t be that bad. The blizzard hasn’t actually started yet. But we’ve got food.”

“Yes, but we might as well save it for the actual blizzard.”

“Which is to say you want something greasy and bad for you.”

Enjolras let out a small affirmative noise and slouched further against the couch cushions. Grantaire sat down on the arm of the couch by his head and started petting his hair absently with one hand. “Does that Mexican place deliver? I could probably even finish a portion of the cheese enchiladas right now.”

“They closed for the storm. I think we’re probably limited to pizza.”

“Dang. How do you know they’re closed? Did you leave the apartment today?”

Grantaire dangled his phone in front of Enjolras’ face, treating him to a Facebook feed rife with local businesses announcing early closings. “But the fact that you’re craving fried cheese to begin with is interesting. Do we need to have the grad school talk again?”

Enjolras pulled away from him and hugged a pillow to his chest, curling away from his fiancé in a manner only to be described as petulant. “No, we don’t need to have the grad school talk again. Just because I’m not finding my classes as enjoyable as I did when I was an undergrad doesn’t mean they’re not valuable and worth taking.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up, ‘Taire.”

“I’m not saying anything. Really. Not a word about all the debt you’re accruing on top of what we’ve already got from our useless BAs is being said at exactly this moment.”

Enjolras reached out a slender leg and lightly kicked him. “My BA isn’t useless. It’s…not exactly in demand at the moment, but I’ve networked well and my GPA is very impressive.”

“Oh come on. You studied the humanities and I was an art major. An _art major_. Even if I’d finished the damn degree, our best hope financially is probably my fucking web comic.” Grantaire cast a glance around the apartment his “useless” comic had afforded them, and grinned in astonishment at the truth in his statement.

“I fully intend to start contributing to our finances instead of just draining them once I finish my masters. I’ll be a better job candidate with a more advanced degree. Now…what kind of pizza are we ordering?”

“Ah, clearly a much more important conversation.” Grantaire slid off the arm of the couch and landed next to Enjolras, who immediately kicked his feet out over Grantaire’s lap. They settled on a half-veggie, half extra cheese and eggplant combo and Grantaire wandered into the kitchen to make the phone call, silently wondering if engaging himself to and living with a vegetarian had turned him into one yet. He hadn’t had a chance to test this idea since it first occurred to him, what with Enjolras’ more forceful personality dictating most of their meals.

By the time the pizza arrived Enjolras was doing his version of relaxing, which is to say he’d changed into more dignified scrubby clothing than his fiancé, wrapped a fleece blanket around his shoulders, and started arguing with strangers on the internet while contentedly sipping a mug of caffeine-free herbal tea. Grantaire plated a couple of slices and set them on the table, then switched on the television and scrolled through the documentaries currently streaming for Enjolras-approved background noise.

“Hey, ‘Taire?”

“Mm?”

“I’m getting a few days off from class and work thanks to this storm. I know you work at home, but I was wondering if you’d give yourself a snow day anyway?”

Grantaire perked up at that. “Really?”

Enjolras frowned at him. “You sound surprised.”

“You’re a freaking workaholic. I thought it’d be expected of me to be locked away all day straining my eyes over my masterpieces.”

Enjolras playfully whapped him over the head. “If you’re actually behind schedule then you should definitely keep working, but I’d assumed you were at the least caught up. You’ve been so diligent lately.”

“Yeah, lots of inspiration.” Grantaire sat down next to him on the couch and picked up his plate of pizza. “I’ve already got this week’s strip done and I have the rough pencil work done for the next three weeks. I can completely afford to take a day off and cuddle.”

Enjolras’ brow quirked. “Cuddle?”

Grantaire faltered. Enjolras didn’t have some other ridiculous task in mind for him, like designing picket signs or memes or something stupid for one of his causes, did he? “Y-yeah, cuddle. That’s what you’re supposed to do during a snowstorm…” He trailed off when Enjolras’ hand started inching up his thigh.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Well, we don’t have to get right to the cuddling, I suppose.”

“Mm.” Enjolras calmly leaned over and grabbed his plate, but eyed Grantaire while he ate his pizza. Grantaire’s eyes traced the motion of his throat as he swallowed. He tried to calm down enough to eat his own supper.

How in the hell did Enjolras make eating fucking pizza sexy?

Maybe that was his own dysfunction though. He’d gotten hot and bothered literally watching Enjolras fold laundry once, to the great amusement of Courfeyrac, who’d been visiting at the time and would probably never let him live that one down.

Later, when Grantaire was making out with his beautiful blond on the couch with enough leftover pizza to feed a couple of slackers for days sitting on the coffee table in front of them during a snow emergency forcing them to remain inside in seclusion, Grantaire reflected that he might possibly be the luckiest man alive.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Enjolras stilled. He was straddling Grantaire’s lap, his hands at the hem of Grantaire’s t-shirt in preparation to yank it over his head. His own hair was in a wild state and his shirt was presently adorning a bookcase on the other side of the room.

Their noses were brushing, both sets of blue eyes very wide as they listened. Another knock sounded.

“Maybe they’ll go away,” Grantaire breathed. Enjolras nodded, and bent down to kiss along Grantaire’s neck.

He stopped when their phones started chiming with texts.

Grantaire smacked a hand over his eyes while Enjolras falteringly covered the scars on his chest and abdomen with his hands. “Will you see who it is?”

“You’re going to have to get off my lap.”

Enjolras nodded, and ran to retrieve his shirt. He didn’t see it hanging from the bookshelf, eyes intent on the floor as he searched. Grantaire took a moment to adjust himself in his pants, then got up to tell whoever it was at the door to go the fuck away if they knew what was good for them.

He probably should have checked his phone before he undid the bolt on the door. As soon as it opened his hallway was invaded by snow covered social activists laden with overnight bags and junk food. A wall of sound seemed to accompany the wall of sodden jackets and enthusiastic hugs as his friends spilled into his home, declaring apple-cheeked enthusiasm for the storm and the “epic sleepover” they’d planned for it.

Grantaire searched through the mob for Courfeyrac, who had to be the ringleader, seized him by his Feuilly-scarf, and yanked him further down the hall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Keeping each other company for Snowmageddon,” Courfeyrac answered cheerfully, as though Grantaire hadn’t tried to choke him with his own scarf (he hadn’t succeeded because he was wearing the scarf _over_ his hoodie instead of under it). “No one had heard from you or Enj and your place is nicer than anyone else’s, so we decided to make it our base for the storm.”

“We don’t want you here. Go away,” Grantaire ground out.

“But we brought goodies!” Joly enticingly shook a bakery box that did smell pretty heavenly, come to think of it. Bossuet was laden with K-cups, which was probably enough to win Enjolras over even if he did make a speech about unnecessary waste and environmental impact before he downed his coffee.

“I don’t care if you brought goodies!” Grantaire yelled. “No one invited you, so get lost!”

“But the snow’s starting to come down now,” Musichetta said. “You aren’t really going to make your friends walk home in the snow, or risk those treacherous roads. Poor Joly’s bound to finally catch that severe chill that’ll finish him off.”

Joly let out a panicked squeak at the thought, but was quickly calmed and reassured by Legle that Grantaire wouldn’t actually send them back out into the storm.

“He’s been prophesizing that particular doom for ages, and he hasn’t succumbed yet,” Grantaire snapped. “I’m not budging. You leeches were not invited, now get out of my house! I was busy.”

“Um…’Taire?” Enjolras poked his head out into the hall. He still hadn’t found his shirt, and was clutching a throw pillow over his chest. Musichetta burst into giggles upon seeing him, but shut up when Eponine elbowed her in the side and gave her a severe look. “Grantaire, you’re not really going to send them back out into the storm.”

“But, but…we were…”

“We were going to have sex,” Enjolras agreed, and had to pause so the least mature of the group could let out their wolf whistles and cat calls. “Which is something we do often and can certainly do later. I don’t mind delaying for company.”

“By all means. Don’t let us stop you.” Musichetta winked at him and then sauntered past into the living room and made herself at home. Considering Enjolras’ words sanction to do so, the rest of the group started stripping off their coats and boots and depositing them where they would in the crowded hallway.

Enjolras tugged on Grantaire’s arm. “Come on, cheer up. This is going to be fun too.”

“A sleepover with our friends is not going to be more awesome than multiple orgasms and you will never convince me otherwise. You know being naked with you is my favorite pastime.”

Enjolras laughed as though that were a joke. “Grantaire, did you happen to see where my shirt went?”

“I dunno. I think I tossed it somewhere near the TV.” Grantaire moodily stomped into the living room and started searching for it.

Unfortunately, Bahorel found it first and formed a game of keep-away. Enjolras refused to jump around trying to grab his shirt and instead hugged the pillow more viciously to his chest. Grantaire humiliated himself jumping between his friends trying to get the thing for his lover, at one point tackling Legle to the ground and sitting on his chest. Then Enjolras ended the game by walking back into the room wearing another shirt.

He grinned in amusement at the disappointed sounds his friends made in response. “What? We’re at _my_ house. You didn’t expect me to go to my dresser and get a new one?”

“Ever the party pooper.” Courfeyrac smiled good naturedly and dropped the first t-shirt over Grantaire’s head.

Grantaire watched sourly as the cozy living room he’d just been groping his fiancé in was crowded with his boisterous college buddies. The pizza he’d expected to slowly consume over the next few days was quickly finished off by Bahorel, Courfeyrac, Musichetta, and Gavroche, and the quiet documentary that he and Enjolras hadn’t really been watching was switched over to Mean Girls.

“Really, guys?”

“Oh come on. I haven’t watched it since they started streaming it on Netflix.” Bahorel had the remote, and since no one present could hope to take it from him (with the possible exception of Musichetta), Mean Girls was going to remain.

Grantaire peered at the room, did a quick headcount, and counted Eponine, Feuilly, and Gavroche in their number. “Where the heck’s Little R? You guys didn’t leave him at home, did you?”

“Of course not,” Eponine huffed, clearly offended. Then she looked around the room and scowled. “Wait a minute, R’s right. Where the hell is he?”

“In here.” Little R’s voice meekly reached them from the front hall. Grantaire went out to inspect and, grumpy as he felt, couldn’t help but smile at what he saw. The six year old had conscientiously stacked all the boots on or in front of the shoe rack, hung up the coats where he could and folded up what wouldn’t fit, folded the scarfs and hats on top of the pile of coats, and was occupied in wiping up the excess water and slush with a roll of paper towels when Grantaire approached him.

“Hey, kiddo. You don’t have to clean up my house. You’re a guest.”

“But you didn’t want us here,” Little R said, small voice giving a tremble. “I thought it might be better if we were neater.”

Grantaire took the paper towels from him and set them on the stairwell, then pulled the kid into a tight hug. “That speech wasn’t for you, bud. You’re always welcome here.”

Little R’s eyes widened. “Even when you and Statue Man are about to have sex?”

“Uh…well no, not always then. Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind changing the plans to get to hang out with you.”

Grantaire carried Little R into the living room on his back and was appreciably nicer for the company of his timid little friend. They retreated to the far corner of the room with some of Grantaire’s crafting supplies and set about making beaded bracelets for some of their gathered friends. After nearly an hour of quiet contentment, Little R walked around the room distributing bracelets and turning beet red anytime anyone dared to thank him for their gifts.

By then it was well past the first grader’s bedtime, so Grantaire carried him into the guest room/art studio and made up a bed for him on the futon. He switched on the nightlight before leaving (a necessity in the room, as Little R was their most frequent guest), and tried not to let his sour mood return just because his little friend was already asleep for the night.

When he got back to the living room he found Enjolras defending a barricade of pillows he’d made on the couch cushion next to him. “Grantaire, will you hurry up and sit down? I’ve been at war with Courfeyrac and Bossuet for your spot.”

“Come on, guys! My butt’s getting sore sitting on the floor,” Legle whined.

Grantaire raced over to secure his spot (“On my own fucking couch,” he couldn’t help but grumble), and immediately tossed the pillows onto the floor, to the benefit of his friends’ backsides. Enjolras started to press against him, probably anticipating Grantaire slinging an arm around him and cuddling, but Grantaire drew away.

“’Taire?”

“Don’t even. We’d be cuddling naked right now if it wasn’t for you and your damn sense of hospitality.”

Enjolras scowled and righted his posture. “You can’t still be mad about that. We’re having a good time. I know you had fun with Little R.” Enjolras held up his wrist in demonstration, which was adorned with an artistically crafted beaded bracelet that featured a dangling sun charm, and quite obviously had not been put together by a small child.

Grantaire waved a hand to indicate the crowded and noisy room. “Courfeyrac and Musichetta are having an honest to god argument over whether they should be hashtagging their posts with ‘Snowmageddon’ or ‘Snowpocalypse’ and the puppy is doing god knows what with his hands under Cosette’s blanket over there-that’s right. I see you kids and I am not fucking fooled by Cosette’s supposed innocence! And Bahorel and Musichetta have taken over our Netflix to marathon fucking chick flicks. What about this night sounds better than pizza and fucking?”

“And cuddling. You already had pizza, and cuddling was technically all you asked for.” Enjolras reached for him again, and begrudgingly, Grantaire leaned into the cuddle. Enjolras fanned his fingers over Grantaire’s side and let out a contented hum, then reached out and kicked Bahorel between the shoulder blades.

“Hey!” Bahorel turned around and glared at Enjolras. “What the hell?”

“Put on something Grantaire likes or I’m kicking you out into the snowstorm.”

“Bite me.” Bahorel scooched out of kicking range of Enjolras and defiantly fixed his attention on his chick flick.

Enjolras politely nudged Musichetta with his foot. “’Chetta, would you kindly start smacking Bahorel until he puts on something for Grantaire? He listens to you.”

“That he does.” Smirking, Musichetta crawled over to her boyfriend and snagged the controller from him. He scowled at her, but didn’t object when she switched to Archer.

“Better?” Enjolras asked.

“A bit.” Grantaire wrapped his arm more securely around Enjolras and nuzzled against him.

Enjolras glanced down at Grantaire, saw the look of contentment on his face, and smirked. “Liar.”

“Mebbe.”

They got through the better part of an episode of Archer peacefully enough, until Enjolras broke the mood by asking Grantaire if he’d been joking about Marius and Cosette. Marius turned bright red and Cosette threw a pillow at him.

“We’re not exhibitionists, Enjolras!”

“Although if this were a bad porno, we’d be one hell of a cast for an orgy scene,” Eponine observed with a suggestive wink.

“Stop it. You’ll give Courfeyrac ideas.”

“Why does everyone always jump straight to me when someone makes a pervy joke?”

* * *

Snowpocalypse (or Snowmageddon, if one sided with Courfeyrac over Musichetta) was still raging when Grantaire woke the next morning. He could hear the winds even through expertly refinished windows and heavy light-blocking curtains. Enjolras had heaped a mountain of blankets over their bed before they’d turned in the night before, so he was warm. He just had one hell of a soundtrack for the morning.

Grantaire shifted around the bed until he found Enjolras, who was burrowed soundly under the blankets to shield himself from what little light penetrated their curtains. Grantaire molded himself to Enjolras’ back and sleepily nuzzled against his neck. “You awake yet?”

“Kind of…unwillingly though. S’it still early?”

“Dunno. Probably not, if I’m awake.” Grantaire trailed his hand over Enjolras’ stomach, reveling in the feel of the soft skin. He trailed his touch higher, hiking up Enjolras’ t-shirt, until he could lightly dance his fingertips over Enjolras’ scars. Enjolras was still fairly sensitive about letting anyone else see the ugly marks on his skin, but he never minded having Grantaire's gaze or touch.

“Hey, ‘Taire?” His voice sounded so sexy when it was all scratchy with sleep. Grantaire was tempted to tell him as much, but he didn’t think Enjolras was in the mood for one of his weird over-appreciative compliments.

“What’s up?”

“You weren’t really mad I let everyone stay last night, were you?” Enjolras shifted and turned around so that they were facing each other. They were sharing the same pillow, with barely a breath of space between them. “I didn’t think you were, but you seemed genuinely annoyed for a little while. Didn’t you have fun?”

“I did,” Grantaire readily admitted. “It’s been forever since we’ve all hung out like that. A huge fucking snowstorm shutting down the state and giving everyone a day off was a prime opportunity. It would have been dickish to pass it up.”

“But…?”

“But…it would have been nice to spend some time just the two of us. We don’t do a lot of that either. You’re always busy with class, and when we go away for the con appearances I’m working the whole time and when we’re actually in the hotel room I’m just exhausted.” Grantaire pulled him close and gave him a tight squeeze. “Sometimes I even start to forget how awesome you are.”

“Bullshit, but you’re very sweet. ‘Taire, if you want to spend more time together that’s fine, but next time just say so. Don’t be a jerk to all of our friends. It’s unproductive.”

“Yes sir.”

Enjolras flicked his nose, but he was smiling. “So…how well do you think sound travels in this apartment?”

Grantaire waggled his eyebrows. “The walls are pretty thick in this place.”

“That they are.” Enjolras threw the blanket over both their heads, then wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s neck and pulled him into a heated kiss.

As it turned out, the walls weren’t all that thick, but Combeferre was diligent about shooing everyone back to the first floor when they crept upstairs to investigate.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance for any kudos or comments <3


End file.
